Secret Crush Seduction, page 6
Mike. Her heartfelt thanks should’ve warmed him, but the distance she wedged between them by using the nickname spread ice through his veins.
He should be glad. If she’d reciprocated his desire, he wouldn’t have been able to resist her much longer. He was a man of principle, but he was no saint. It wouldn’t have mattered that she was his best friend’s little sister, and the cherished and overprotected baby of the closest people he had to a family. He would’ve succumbed if she’d wanted him, too. But she didn’t. She was past the fluke in the kitchen the other night.
He should be grateful he wouldn’t break the trust of people he cared so much about. He should be relieved. But the wall she’d built around herself made him feel more alone than ever.
Five
Adelaide dragged herself to work after a few hours of restless sleep. She wished she had one of those beer hats that folks wore to ball games, so she could prop two cups of venti coffee in it. Then again, putting two small buckets of steaming hot liquid on her head probably wasn’t the best idea she’d had. In fact, her exhausted brain seemed capable only of spewing gibberish and stupid ideas.
Perhaps the stupidest idea running through her mind was to call Michael even though they didn’t have a single meeting on the calendar. She felt the urge to ask him to lunch to brainstorm over the marketing status, or to go over the guest list one more time.
“Coffee,” she mumbled as she passed Cindy, the spunky designer with a pixie cut.
“Late night?” The other woman grinned suggestively.
“Lots of work.”
Back at her desk with a double espresso, Adelaide dropped her head in her hands and groaned. Suddenly remembering she wasn’t alone, she peeked around the studio between her fingers. Good. No one was paying her any attention. Her cell vibrated next to her espresso, and she reached for it with more urgency than warranted. It was Michael. Her heart beat a fancy drum solo.
Michael’s text was simple. Hey.
Hey, she responded.
I got us an in with Mateo Sanchez.
Adelaide couldn’t believe it. Shut. Up.
Mateo Sanchez. He was a renowned director who had a reputation for creating movies featuring people of color in a realistic light. He was a powerful voice for underrepresented groups in the US. Having his support could catapult the charity event and autism awareness beyond anything she’d hoped for.
No, you shut up, Michael shot back.
Real mature, Adelaide typed, grinning at her phone.
Michael wouldn’t quit. You started it.
Why are we bickering like we’re six? We have an in with Mateo Sanchez! Tell me everything.
Not much to tell. A client knows someone who knows Sanchez’s agent. We get ten mins with the agent.
The agent? Not Sanchez?
You’re cute. Of course, the agent. Lory Diaz.
When? Where?
Today at 12:30 in West Hollywood.
Where are you? Should we drive together or meet there?
It’s 11:00. We have plenty of time.
Stop being so damn calm and tell me where the hell you are. I want to be there right now.
Bossy. I’m downstairs in the lobby. Come on down.
She looked down at her outfit: a cream sleeveless mock-neck and a black pencil skirt with a blue skinny belt, stilettos and a giant tote. That would do.
“Mateo Sanchez,” she shouted into the room in general as she clacked toward the exit. “Might get him on the guest list.”
“What the...”
“Good luck.”
“Mateo Freaking Sanchez?”
Letting the words of encouragement recede in the distance, Adelaide made a dash for the elevators, got off at the lobby with impatience simmering inside, then stopped dead in her tracks. Michael was leaning against a wall, scrolling through his phone. Hell. He was sex personified. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark blue slacks that hugged his thighs and no doubt his delectable behind like a fitted glove.
“What are you standing around for?” She sounded out of breath, but hopefully he’d think it was from rushing down to the lobby. “Let’s go. Your car. I’m too nervous to drive.”
“You. Nervous? I don’t believe it.” His boyish grin made him look like the Michael she knew growing up, and she wanted to kiss the hell out of him.
“Well, nervous is a bit of an exaggeration. I’m...distracted.” By the opportunity to secure Mateo Sanchez’s support and by the handsome man walking beside her in the parking structure.
She breathed in deeply and blew out her nerves with her next breath. The man beside her was her old friend, who just happened to be unfairly gorgeous. She was human, so she noticed stuff. Like hot men. It didn’t mean she had feelings for him.
Adelaide slid into the passenger seat and turned to him. “So what have you got? How are we going to woo this agent?”
“I’m leaving that part up to you,” he said as he backed out of the parking spot. “You have a way with people that’s better than any mountain of intel on Sanchez I can provide.”
“A way with people?” She snorted with disbelief and ignored the pride fluttering in her heart. “That’s a pretty excuse for not doing your homework, Reynolds. Why don’t you just say your dog deleted your notes with its big brown nose?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Exactly,” she said, arching her brow for good measure when he glanced at her.
“According to the GPS, we have a forty-five-minute drive ahead of us. That gives us plenty of time to prepare a spiel for the meeting.” He kept his eyes on the road but lifted a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I’m not kidding. You need to be yourself, and tell Lory why LearnAutism and the fashion show are so important for the community and society as a whole. I’m pretty sure she sees a nauseating amount of plastic smiles and listens to endless prepared speeches. Give her something real and she’ll get you Sanchez.”
“Do you... Do you really believe that?” Adelaide whispered, feeling a moment of doubt.
The person he was describing was not only a grown woman but a smart, competent one. Was he finally seeing the real her? Had he let go of the helpless little girl in his mind and accepted her for who she was right now? Because that would be a game changer. A life changer.
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation.
Her breath caught and her throat worked to swallow.
He sees me. He believes in me.
“Well, then,” she said unable to hold back her joyous smile. “I won’t let you down.”
* * *
The honking of the oncoming car jolted Michael’s attention back to the road and the stop sign he’d almost run. He couldn’t look away from her. From her smile. The vulnerable light in her eyes.
The driver behind him leaned on his horn. After almost running the stop sign, Michael hadn’t resumed driving, forcing the other car to pass him. He needed to get it together if they were going to arrive in West Hollywood in one piece.
“Sorry,” he said, stealing a glance at her. His voice sounded like two boulders being ground into pebbles. He cleared his throat. “And I know you’d never let me down, but more importantly, you won’t let yourself down. This charity event is important to you in so many ways. You’ll do a fantastic job.”
“Thank you,” she said again a little breathlessly.
Michael snapped his eyes back to the road and focused on getting his heart into a lower gear. The air was charged with anticipation, and they spent the rest of the ride discussing her pitch.
He valeted his car in front of a fiercely modern café with a stark black, white and red motif. Lory Diaz had chosen the meeting place. Their trendy meeting spot worried him. Would Sanchez’s agent be too chic and cool to be interested in what they had to say?
“Wow, I think all the edges in this place could cut me to shreds if I’m not careful,” Adelaide quipped as they went inside. “Do you think their mugs are rectangular? And black, of course.”
He chuckled and leaned down toward her as he led them to the counter. “Look to your left.”
“Oh, my gosh.” She muffled her laugh behind her hand. “The mug is a black rectangle. I was totally messing around. This place is so cringey.”
“Ms. Song?” came a warm voice from behind them.
Adelaide turned around with a smile, then shot Michael a confused gaze.
“This is Ms. Diaz,” he whispered in her ear.
She blushed a bright pink, but schooled her expression to reflect impeccable professionalism. “Ms. Diaz, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Neither did I. I came a little early for a much-needed coffee break. I recognized you because I’ve seen your pictures on social media,” she said, shaking Adelaide’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re even lovelier in person. And you must be Mr. Reynolds. You’re a very persistent man.”
“Thank you,” he replied with a broad grin. He’d been worried by her choice of café, but she gave off a good vibe. “And please call me Mike.”
Returning his smile, she said, “You two are really early. I was hoping to get here before you guys did.”
“We thought we’d settle in and wait for you so we didn’t waste a minute of your time,” Adelaide said, her blush finally fading.
“Why don’t we order our drinks and sit at that table by the window?”
“Sounds good.” Michael motioned for Lory to order so he could pay for her coffee. “We’re still deciding.”
A few minutes later, they gathered around the table with their respective drinks in their hands. Michael and Adelaide’s regular-sized coffees were served in the black rectangular mugs they’d noticed before, but Lory’s large coffee was in a shockingly skinny and tall red oval mug.
“This place is ridiculous, but it’s close to my office and their coffee is incredible,” Lory said with a teasing smile, confirming their fear she might’ve overheard them.
“Sorry about that, but I do think they’re a little over-the-top.” Adelaide laughed sheepishly. “But I’m totally with you about their coffee. Good stuff.”
“Even though we’re early, we could go until 12:50 p.m. as planned.” She glanced down at her watch and said, “Okay...go.”
He and Adelaide blinked, then stared at each other until Lory snorted.
“That was my idea of a joke, but we do have to end at precisely 12:50. Please, tell me about your charity event.”
Relieved laughter broke the ice for them, and Michael watched as the tension left Adelaide’s shoulders and she launched her spiel. She was her charming, passionate self as she spoke of autism awareness and the need for sensory-friendly clothing, and how she wanted Hansol to be part of the small movement happening across the country, bringing its own angle and resources to the growing industry.
“There’s a real need for well-designed clothing for adults with autism. Plenty of people on the spectrum are successful professionals and need to dress appropriately. But suits and dresses, with their buttons, zippers, rough seams and scratchy fabrics can really trigger discomfort and not everyone can afford to have their clothes custom-made. Currently, the choices are limited. One—be wealthy. Two—stick with whatever comfortable clothing is out there, even if it’s not appropriate for the occasion. Or three—wear business and formal clothes and suck it up, even if they make you want to crawl out of your skin. I want to change that, because those aren’t real choices.”
A contemplative expression crossed Lory’s face before she nodded firmly. “Adelaide, Mateo is going to want to meet you. And soon.”
Adelaide gasped, and Michael sat forward with excitement. “We’ll fit our schedule around his. Just let us know the time and place. We’d be honored to speak with Mr. Sanchez.”
Lory looked at her watch again and smiled apologetically at them. “That sounds great. We need to stop now, but I’ll definitely be in touch. Thank you again, and I wish you all the best.”
They stepped out into the sun and shook hands before parting ways. As soon as Lory turned the corner, Michael pulled Adelaide into his arms.
“You were amazing,” he said, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair. “Congratulations.”
“We’re not done, yet.”
Despite her modest words, she clung to him as she trembled with excitement, and he held her, soaking up her elation, unable to let go.
Six
Adelaide’s head was floating above the clouds. As Lory promised, Mateo Sanchez wanted to meet her. At his home in Bel Air. It was a rare privilege. She parked in front of the house after going through the security gates, and surveyed the Mediterranean mansion with interest as she approached the imposing front door. She rang the doorbell and was pleasantly surprised by its quiet, subtle chime.
“Ms. Song,” a man in faded jeans and a T-shirt greeted her at the door. “Please come in. I’m Mateo Sanchez.”
“Thank you so much for having me.” It was the man himself. Just Mateo Sanchez in casual clothes and flip-flops. “And please call me Adelaide.”
“Only if you call me Mateo,” he said as he led her through the house. “Would you like a cocktail or some iced tea?”
“Iced tea sounds lovely.”
The interior of the mansion was all warm earthy tones and clean-cut elegance. It was huge yet comfortable. Like a home people really lived in. Mateo’s kitchen was a space made for entertaining—small dinners, wine parties, casual get-togethers. It somehow also felt perfect for their two-person meeting. He handed her a tall glass of iced tea and sat across from her at the island holding a glass of his own.
“Lory told me about the charity fashion show, and I admire you for your vision and dedication.”
“Thank you. There needs to be less othering and more acceptance of people with autism. With the sensory-friendly fashion show, I have the opportunity to spread autism awareness. I hope you can become a part of this important cause, too.”
“I’d be happy to attend the event and help the cause in any way, but I also have an ulterior motive for asking you to visit my home,” he said, while typing something into his phone.
Adelaide’s heart jumped—Mateo Sanchez was coming to the fashion show—then fell to her stomach. She was ecstatic he would be attending, but she wasn’t sure about the “ulterior motive” part. Should I get my pepper spray out? But Mateo didn’t give off any creepy vibes. Before she could ask what his “ulterior motive” involved, a striking teenage girl strode into the kitchen, capturing her attention.
“Stella, this is Adelaide Song, the designer I told you about,” he said, waving the girl toward them. “Adelaide, this is Stella, my daughter.”
“Nice to meet you.” Adelaide stood and extended her hand to Stella, but the girl’s lips turned down at the corners and she drew back. Had Adelaide somehow offended her?
“I’m so happy to meet you, too, Ms. Song,” she said, hiding her hands behind her back. “Sorry for not shaking your hand. It’s the weirdest custom. The joining of two sweaty, sticky hands, which results in the exchange of bacteria and viruses. I mean, why?”
The puzzle pieces began fitting together. Adelaide’s eyes shot to meet Mateo’s.
“Stella, may I?” he said.
“Sure.” The girl shrugged. “I mean, we can’t get to the point of this meeting without telling her.”
“Right. Adelaide, my daughter’s on the spectrum.”
“Thank you for sharing with me,” she said simply. There was nothing beyond that to say. “But Mateo, in terms of the charity event, I think you have yet to reveal your ‘ulterior motive.’”
“Actually, Stella will discuss that part with you.”
Adelaide glanced at Stella with her brows raised, intrigued by this father-daughter tag team.
“So.” The teenager lowered her lanky form onto the stool beside her. “I’m turning fifteen in like ten days, and as you probably know, in the Mexican culture, the fifteenth birthday is kind of a big deal. I told my dad that I didn’t want a quinceañera because wearing some uncomfortable ball gown all night is what I would call torture, not a party.”
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place and Adelaide knew what she had to do. “Well, not all ball gowns have to be torture devices. I bet I could create a sensory-friendly gown that would let you dance all night long with minimal discomfort.”
“That’s what my dad said, but I’m not sure—”
“Tell me,” Adelaide interrupted, too excited to stay silent. “Tell me everything that bothers you about clothes, and I’ll find a way around them all.”
* * *
Holy Mother of God.
Adelaide was invited to Stella Sanchez’s quinceañera, and of course, Michael volunteered to be her plus-one. She greeted him at the door of the Song residence in Pacific Palisades wearing a one-shouldered white dress that hugged her body and draped artfully to the floor. She looked stunning. Breathtaking. He literally could not breathe. Then she glided toward him as though she were floating on air.
Maybe he was seeing things as an effect of lack of oxygen in his brain. Hell. That meant all his blood was heading south where it didn’t belong. He adjusted his tie and thought about swimming in frigid waters.
“You look lovely, Adelaide,” he said. He was proud he managed to form coherent words. And was she wearing a new perfume? God, she’s trying to kill me.
She glanced up and down his body before meeting his eyes. Then she whispered in a husky voice, “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”
Michael grinned wolfishly, loving the effect he had on her. The more time he spent with this grown-up Adelaide, the more he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted another woman. Her confidence, intelligence and sense of humor had him entranced.
